Tales from Roy's desk
by tobi the blarg monster
Summary: He had to see her again...no matter the cost. it had been years since then, and being Fuhrer wasn't exactly what he wanted...no. not if that meant losing everyone around him. Rated M for content and perhaps Roy X Riza soon


The room was dark, no light but that of the moon peeking through the rooms curtains. The small shot glass he just emptied making a small noise as he set it down to give it a quick refill. This is what Roy's days had become. Long evenings only accompanied by booze and the dark living room. Mustang sighed as he downed another shot. It hadn't been long since he accepted the position of Fuhrer, but that also meant he wasn't permitted many guests. The fear of his dying kept a few security guards posted at his small house more than at all times.

Dying.

He smirked at the thought. He was hitting on 27 and had already done so much and come so far. But at what price.

He filled and downed another shot.

Hughes was dead, Riza had stopped talking to him since he tried to shoot himself, Full metal never spoke to him unless he was turning in a mission report, and the Armstrong's hadn't spoken to him since the promised day. They weren't permitted to have his company.

He downed another shot before giving up and just drinking from the bottle.

Was it really all worth it? Had he done the right thing?

His eyes began to drowse as he felt his conscious fade in and out. He chugged half the bottle, then stripped off his military jacket, throwing it in the direction of the recliner, not sure if he even actually landed it but not caring all the same. Then leaned back on the couch he had been sitting on, waiting for the darkness to take him. He raised the bottle to drink once again, only to realize it had about one decent swig left. He chuckled to himself as he set it beside him on the couch. Not sure of what else to do. He sat there clad in his military pants, pants skirt, boots, and his light blue button up shirt, just barely unbuttoned. Fading in and out of existence. Not caring if he lived or died.

'Not like anyone would care,' he thought, just barely understanding his own thoughts through dowsed drunkenness. 

Even Havoc stopped talking to him…'where did I go wrong…' the drunk spoke, leaning his head up to meet parallel with the ceiling. His insides becoming like that of his alchemy, like fire. A raging fire of abandonment from all of those he once thought of as people he loved and trusted. A flame of hatred to himself for losing all that he had to gain nothing but a status. Then a thought crossed his mind, probably the only sober thought he'd had the whole evening, he needed to see Riza.

If anyone could help him it was her.

Those moments when he thought all was lost back when Bradley ruled was erased by the beautiful blondes touch, wiped clean by her scent, and forgotten with her words. Never had he truly tried to make something of them. Never did he once invite her to dinner, never did he think of her feelings when he spoke of other women, and…never did he say he truly loved her.

A tear welled up in the corner of his eye, before rolling down his pale cheek. Thoughts were streaming through the raven haired man's head. What to do, what to do…

'_Leave,' _the word echoed in the back of his head like he had come to realization of what needed to be done. But this time…he wouldn't think of himself.

He stumbled to get up off the couch. So drunk in confusion he wasn't even sure where his furniture was at past the couch.

'I have to get out…I have to leave,' he thought almost panicking while his eyes searched the room. Thinking of how to get out without the guards knowing…and while he was drunk. 'Of course of all nights he had to be drinking,' he thought.

He felt almost stupid when he saw the light from the moon beam in through the window. Once again, the alcohol playing him the fool.

Then a small smile appeared on his lips as he had the most wonderful idea…

'how else to get around these guards…,' he thoughts, trying to fish his ignition gloves out of his pocket,' than for them to think im under attack.'

After a few more tries to get into his packet, which almost seemed smaller or harder to get to than usual, he pulled out the white beauties. His lovely red insignia embroidered on them almost glowing in all of their beauty.

As he slid them on over his shaky fingers he walked to his window, pulling it up allowing the air to flow in around him.

"Is everything ok, Fuhrer sir?", a nearby guard called to him.

"Uhm. Yuh, peachy," ok, so acting casual didn't work for him very well under the influence. He sounded terrible, slurring his words like he was used to it.

"Sir, are you ok? You sound…"

"Do I sound kay? I'm parfect," his words coming out worse than before. The guard didn't even say anything else but came towards him.

'If you say anything Mustang, just say this right!', he thought to himself, getting ready to make his final move.

"Over there! I seen something," ok, not as well as he had hoped but better than earlier.

The guard turned around, and the moment he turned his back, Roy snapped targeting something off in the direction the man was facing, and watched as flames spewed from a random trees wreckage.

The guard looked back to Roy, almost begging to say, "are you serious?"

"Well? Go check it oot, want me to die?" to Roy he was almost speaking perfect at this point. The guard in turn just turned around and followed some other guards that were heading in the same direction.

When he felt there was enough space between him and the man he didn't even know he rolled out the window onto the ground. Gravity being a little more than difficult on him this evening. But really…when did he get to where he didn't even know his staff. His eyes shut momentarily and he saw faces of the ones that brought him to where he was today. Wondering if they spoke ill of him at east headquarters now that he was gone.

'Enough…I have to get moving,' he thought, opening his eyes, which happened to be a lot harder than he thought it would be.

He got up, leaning against the house for some support as he reoriented himself on where he was going.

After sneaking by some guards he came up on the road, there were many people parked eye balling the incident. Of course it was treason, or terrorists because of course he would never do such a thing. All of people talking of who could have done such a thing, or why would someone attempt to assassin the Fuhrer, and he even heard someone say how he deserved to rot .The only thing on his mind though was running at this point. He looked for salvation, and almost like an answered prayer a nosy taxi driver pulled up. Thank god it was hitting late, and it was dark, hopefully the man didn't recognize him.

He hobbled as straight as his body allowed to the vehicle and opened the door and got in.

"Ah, come on man, I was just coming to get a look at the explosion," the man stated almost angrily.

"If you value your life I recommend you take me where I say," Roy started to get aggressive not even caring of his cover at this point as he threw his gloved hand up by the man's head.

"W-Why do you have the, the Fuhrers gloves?!," the man began to get frantic, "You're the guy trying to kill him aren't you? You Traitor!"

'Hm,' Roy thought, 'he has no idea whatsoever.'

"Yes I am, and if you don't get me to the town square now, I will kill you too," he felt his buzz lighten up, probably from his adrenaline pumping heavier with every thought of his consequences.

Without another word, the driver sped off to town square; taking the fastest way he could find. Anything to get this crazy traitorous man who smelled of booze out of his cab.

"You won't get away with this. They'll find you," The driver spoke as he parked.

"I already have friend," Roy patted the man's shoulder then threw a hundred into the passenger seat.

"Thanks for the ride," the flame said as he stepped out the car into the light and looked back to the driver, showing that it was he, Fuhrer Mustang.

"B-But…"

"Take care, and move along," Was the raven's last words as he turned and walked back into the darkness. Back into that essence that he knew so well. Luckily his feet were cooperating much more so than earlier. However, his feet was the last of his worries.

Now that he was at his destination he looked for his point of interest. Ah…the East headquarters.

He walked up to the doors, locked of course. But never the windows. A hard lesson learned from locking themselves out one time back in the old days…

He walked to the back of the building to where Riza's office was and thankfully less lights. Just one shot…if this window was locked then there was no hope. His mind stuck on hope and fate and if this didn't work then he was doomed to Fuhrer-hood for the rest of his miserable life.

He put his hands on the frame to begin lifting. He squeezed his eyes shut in a silent prayer that if anything were to go his way, then let this be it. Then suddenly he pushed, and thankfully, it opened.

He wanted to cry in joy, and what drunk that was left in him almost let him. But the Man in him refusing such things.

He rolled into the window, just as he rolled out of his own bedroom earlier. Flopping onto the floor with a grand old thud. He laid there on the wood floor, just thinking of how pitiful this was, but also of how he couldn't go back now. When did he become someone who ran from his duties instead of chasing them? When did he let people guard him instead of fighting for himself? It's not like he was really weak or anything, he was the Flame Alchemist for Christ's sake! His eyes trying to let him feel again, but his brain once again refusing as he removed himself from the floor.

Riza's office looked much like his old one. A desk on one end and two couches in the center. He went to one, a velvety feel…one he hadn't felt in a long, long time. He laid on down on it, stretching himself over the one piece of furniture, claiming it as a bed. A few pillows scattered on it, some half under him now. He took one and held it to his nose, giving a deep inhale to smell that woman. Her strength almost its own entity…

He laid there clad in his uniform from the past albeit his coat he had cast off way earlier when drinking his sorrows away. He had intended to leave, having lost the courage to face those he turned his back on…but somewhere in those lovely memories, he fell fast asleep. Dreaming of when he would be able to see them all and apologize for what he had become.


End file.
